


As You Lay Sleeping

by digitalcatnip



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Talk of Character Death, Written before canonical Hoxton Breakout, and guns, and sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalcatnip/pseuds/digitalcatnip
Summary: Wolf's POV of "Wake Up."   Hoxton gets knocked out and spends a few days in the hospital.





	As You Lay Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> My lust for sadness doesn't stop. Originally posted on Tumblr in 2014, several months after "Wake Up." Again, there was a generally agreed-upon fanon at the time before more story was given re: Hoxton's breakout and subsequent storylines concerning his incarceration, and this fic follows that rather than what is current word of God.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr @cataouatche !

* * *

 

                Wolf’s stomach was in his throat.  According to the map Bain had given them he was mere minutes away from drilling the door of Hoxton’s cell open and rescuing his best friend from prison.  He hadn’t seen him in two years, and the circumstances of their separation made him more emotional than he’d felt since leaving Sweden.  Typically the Other Wolf came out when the mask was on, but something about this job kept him at bay.

                Quietly they snuck around a corner into a cell block.  Wolf had never been in a county jail before, much less prison.  The expanse of tiny barred rooms both impressed and terrified him.

                Behind him, the man in Hoxton’s mask was pointing out cameras to his teammates.  Wolf liked the kid, he reminded him a bit of himself.  His calm, serious demeanor during jobs betrayed the man inside – someone who drank root beer like it was going out of style, and absolutely adored terrible puns.  He was amazing at staying quiet, and flexible as a cat, perfect for manoeuvring around unseen.

                Bain had brought him to the crew’s attention after Wolf nearly got Dallas killed by not checking the rooftops from his vantage point.  Wolf had tried to take on Hoxton’s job, playing both the sniper and the technician, but he failed miserably.  Hoxton’s gun was awkward in his arms, the mindset of a sniper too foreign.   Chains had begged Bain to find them someone to take on Hoxton’s job, and Dallas had to take a three week long vacation to heal a massive gash in his temple.

                Wolf would never forget the look on Dallas’ face when Bain showed him the paperwork. 

“Have you heard about the kid from Chicago that’s making a name for himself with some really impressive cat burglary?  Take a look at his file.”

Dallas had nearly choked on his cigarette.  The reunion was icy and awkward, and Wolf soon learned that the brothers had been estranged for years, due to Dallas going underground and forcing everyone to believe he was dead.  They warmed up eventually, but occasionally you could see the uncomfortable tension between them, especially when the younger brother was injured.  Dallas’ big brother sense was so strong, but his younger sibling had grown up without him, and was used to doing things on his own.  It crushed the older man.

Cameras all marked, Wolf proceeded into the cell block, creeping quietly along the wall.  Bain was in his ear, reminding him of Hoxton’s cell number.  Wolf’s heart was pounding so hard he could swear everyone else could hear it, and it felt like he might stop breathing when he caught sight of the correct number.

Wolf had spent a sleepless night preparing his equipment for this job.  He must have smoked an entire pack, and he regretted it now, his chest struggling to supply enough oxygen.  He purposefully avoided looking inside the cell as he snapped the drill to the keyhole, leaning his weight in to stabilize it.  Silently it chewed through the steel lock, barely filling the air with smoke.

The door popped open, and wolf gingerly swung it open.  He finally took a look at the figure lying on the bed against the wall, curled into a tight ball, just like always, hair wild across his pillow.

“Hoxton, wake up!” Wolf’s voice felt like sandpaper.

  Hoxton sat up in his bed, and said nothing, just quickly stood up and followed Wolf out of the cell and back into the hallway.  Wolf left him behind, taking up a position near Dallas in the front of the procession, trying to focus on the job.  They were only halfway there – physically removing Hoxton from the cell was just the start.

Wolf physically jumped when the kid suddenly turned and fired a round into a camera on the wall.  They had already been forced to jam a pager and take out a guard, and this was their last straw.  They’d been seen, and the sirens were blaring.  Wolf could feel the red panic coming up.

They scrambled for an outside wall to blow, Bain barking directions in their ears, calling for the pilot to pull around to their side.  Wolf struggled to rig the explosives, his hands shaking too hard.  He must have wired it wrong, because when he pressed the detonator the counter light began flashing too fast.  It was going to blow before they could move away.

                Wolf looked up into Hoxton’s confused face, and realized that if these bombs went off, Hoxton would take the brunt of the damage.  He wasn’t wearing enough armour, he didn’t have earplugs, or a bulletproof mask.  Wolf threw himself into Hoxton, pinning him against the wall, covering the smaller man with his body. 

The explosives detonated, blowing a hole in the wall and nearly shattering Wolf’s eardrums.  He felt fire wash over his back, and he felt instantly sweaty in his armour.  Once the smoke cleared, he looked around.  Beside him, the other three were stirring, and Wolf let out his breath.  He could feel Hoxton breathing beneath him, but his body was limp.  Not surprising.

Bile lowered his helicopter to the level of the hole in the wall, allowing them to jump to safety just as the heat turned the corner.  Wolf hefted Hoxton to his shoulders, handing him off to Chains before climbing into the bird himself.  Bullets sang around them as the pilot lifted off, rotors drowning out the sounds of the prison sirens.

 

 

 

Inside the safe house, Wolf gingerly laid Hoxton on the couch.  A huge bruise was purpling the side of Hoxton’s forehead.

“Get him out of that jumpsuit, Wolf, we gotta make sure he didn’t bust anything else,” Dallas said, popping open a first aid kid and pulling out equipment.

Wolf stripped him, rolling him over to check his back and sides.  A few cuts, bruises, minor burns, and singed hair, but nothing too serious.  Dallas quickly put medicine on his wounds.

“That head bump worries me.  He’s been out for a while.”  Dallas gave Wolf a concerned look.  “If he doesn’t wake up in an hour or so we might have to take him to the hospital.”  He turned and walked into the bedroom, desperate for a shower.

Wolf sat on the floor and lit a cigarette, leaning his head back against the seat of the couch near Hoxton’s head.  “You’ll wake up, right?” he asked the unconscious man, exhaling slowly.  Hoxton did not answer.

 

 

 

“Ok, we’ve got to take him in, he’s been out for two hours.  That’s long enough for brain damage,” Dallas said, pressing a hand to Hoxton’s forehead.  His skin felt hot, and his breaths were shallow.

Bain made the arrangements, and Dallas drove the five of them to the hospital.  Hoxton was taken to ICU almost immediately, fitted with a myriad of machines and tubes in his arms.  Wolf hated every minute of it, the sterile white walls, the beep of the machines, the doctors fussing around, shoving needles into his friend. 

Several scans and tests later, and the doctors were telling them that he’d suffered serious head trauma, and only time will tell if he woke up.

“So there’s a possibility he won’t?” Wolf asked, mouth dry.

The doctor gave him that fake face of sympathy that Wolf hated.  “If he’s unconscious longer than six hours, there’s a very real chance that he will not wake up.”

Wolf stood up and walked silently into Hoxton’s room and planted himself firmly into a chair.  Dallas followed him, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Wolf stared ahead at the machines monitoring Hoxton’s vitals.  “I will be when he wakes up.”

Dallas put a hand on Wolf’s shoulder.  He’d seen that look on Wolf’s face before, and long learned that once it was set there, whatever Wolf planned to do, he would not stop until he’d done it.

“We’ll be around.  Call me if you need anything, like lunch, or a smoke break.”

Wolf nodded absently.  Dallas left the room.

 

 

 

                Dallas and his brother returned that afternoon with takeout for Wolf.  Hoxton had now been unconscious over twelve hours, and the doctors were not nearly as optimistic as they had been before.

                Wolf was sitting in the chair, head between his knees.  “Please wake up, Hoxton,” he said softly.  His thoughts were interrupted by Dallas opening the door.

                “We brought you food,” he said.

                Wolf took the container in silence.

                Dallas’ brother sat down next to Wolf and smiled at him.  “Hey, take a break for a minute.  Go have a smoke and eat outside.  He’ll be ok without you for a few minutes.”

                Wolf shot him an icy glare, but softened his face when he realized that the younger man was right.  Wolf was still suffering from the post-heist jitters, and sitting here wasn’t really going to help that.

                Wolf sat down outside on a bench in a small garden area and ate his lunch in silence.  His hands were shaking.  Usually he’d have shot an entire case of shotgun shells and smoked til his lungs hurt to calm down, but it did not seem he’d have that luxury this time.  He should really try to quit smoking, anyway.

                The first few months after Hoxton had been taken into custody were a blur for Wolf.  He did not handle it well.  The anxiety kept him up at night, and whenever he did sleep all he saw was a repeat reel of Hoxton falling off of the ladder, getting smashed in the head, and sometimes, shot in the chest, if Wolf’s mind was feeling particularly sadistic.  Eventually he decided staying up was preferable to watching his friend die every night.  He spent a lot of time in the range, pumping magazine after magazine into the targets, and even more time in his workshop, furiously working on his machines.  Bain eventually had sent the rest of them on a vacation, but Wolf couldn’t relax.  He left after a week in Europe, returning to the safe house.  He let the lease on his apartment expire, and just moved his stuff here.  Not that he had a lot.

                Wolf spent the next six months in and out of apartments, floating across the country like he had before he’d met Dallas, Chains, and Hoxton, doing little, spending money like he had a never-ending supply of it.  He’s busted a couple shops on his own, just for something to do, but the excitement of the score was lost without his friends next to him, and he disappeared off the radar again.

                When it seemed Wolf was going to either die of boredom or snap completely and shoot up a mall, Bain had given him a call.  About fucking time.

                Wolf flicked the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray near the door and walked back into the hospital.  When he returned to Hoxton’s room, Dallas was talking to the doctor.  Wolf stayed outside listening to the conversation.

                “The longer he stays unconscious the more severe the damage to his brain could be.  It has already been twelve hours.  His vitals are decent, but unless those eyes open soon, we may lose him.  At least his mind.”

                A pause, Dallas’ brother saying something too low for Wolf to hear.

                “Fortunately I don’t see any hemorrhaging on his scans, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get knocked around.”  The doctor sighed.  “Only time can tell, I guess.”

               

 

 

                The night was long and sleepless, as most of his nights had been.   They moved Hoxton to his own room sometime in the afternoon.  There was no entertainment in the isolation room, however, so Wolf had requested Dallas bring him a book to read.  Dallas arrived with four, and a tablet for Wolf to play on.

                Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Hoxton moved.  Wolf snapped up from his reading, turning the tablet so the light would shine on Hoxton’s face.  His dark brown eyes were open slightly, and when Wolf’s light touched them, they contracted.  Wolf nearly cried.  He leaned forward for the nurse call button, but stopped when he saw Hoxton’s eye dilate again, losing focus.

                “Can you hear me?” Wolf asked.  Hoxton did not reply.

                Wolf sat back in his chair, sighing heavily, picking his tablet back up.  Minutes went by before he realized he’d read the same paragraph five times.  He couldn’t concentrate on what he was reading, but he had nothing else to do, so he began to read aloud.

                “I feel silly doing this, but if I’m going to survive tonight I might have to,” he muttered to Hoxton.  Hoxton did not reply.

                Wolf felt foolish for the first few sentences, but as he continued to read aloud, he found himself calming.  His hands steadied, his heart stopped trying to escape, his breathing normalized.  He began to realize just how much of a panic he’d been in ever since they stepped into the van to drive to the prison the night before.  He began to narrate the book, creating voices for the characters, speaking quirks, waving his hands around to emphasize lines.

                The sun painted the sky red outside, and Wolf finally succumbed to exhaustion, curled up best he could on the small chair.

                His sleep was calm, and undisturbed.

 

               

 

                Wolf awoke to a hand on his back, gently shaking him.  His eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply.  Hoxton?

                He looked up to see Chains standing over him.

                “Yo, you need to get up.  It’s 9:30.”

                Wolf sat up and stretched wide.  He noticed the Dallas and his brother were standing across the room, looking grim.

                “What’s wrong?”  Wolf’s voice was deadpan, grave.

                Dallas pointed to Hoxton.  “He’s still not awake.  It’s been twenty-four hours.  The chances of him waking up are slim, and if he does, he might not be all there.”

                The words were like a punch to the chest.  He knew Dallas was just trying to spare him theatrics, but Wolf secretly hated him for being so blunt.  _Don’t talk about this so casually._

“If he’s not up and talking by this afternoon, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about what to do.”  Dallas did not seem like he enjoyed the conversation either.  He had risked so much, spent so much time, and more than anything, he hated to give up.  “The doctors are not optimistic.”

                “I am not leaving,” Wolf growled, eyes narrow.

                “Are you going to stay here with him for the rest of his life if he never wakes up?”

                “I will not let him stay like this forever.”  It would be easier to pull the trigger on his best friend than to watch him waste away, the only thing keeping him alive being the multitude of machines connected to him.

                Dallas met his eyes and held them for a long moment.  Wolf was feeling shaky again, and apparently it showed in his face.   “Wolf, are you okay?”

                “I just need a cigarette,” Wolf muttered, walking out of the room.

 

                Dallas’ eyes followed him out, brow furrowed in concern.  Wolf had never been the most stable man on the planet, but he’d been strung thin lately, and Dallas was worried he wouldn’t be able to handle it mentally.  Dallas remembered all too well the months after Hoxton’s incarceration – Wolf was never still, always pacing, snapping at every sound, never speaking in more than the absolute minimum amount of words.  He could only imagine what was going through Wolf’s head now, with the possibility of his friend never waking up looming over him.

                Dallas himself was struggling with that thought.  He’d faced his own demons long ago, battled off the guilt of his decision to leave him behind, and he hated that the end result may end up being worse for Hoxton than leaving him in prison for the rest of his life.  He’d sacrificed too much for that to be the ending he received. 

But looking here, down at Hoxton’s pale face, he genuinely felt as though the next morning would find the hospital bed painted red, and Wolf unable to be found. 

 

 

 

Wolf sat in the chair, leg tapping incessantly.  The anxiety was sky-high, chest and throat tight.  He didn’t like being here, in this glassed-in room, sounds muffled around him, knowing he was being watched, knowing the nurses knew his face.   The mood around was pessimistic, and Wolf felt alone and empty, the only one still clinging to hope.  At first he’d truly been optimistic, but as the days crawled by, he felt the prickle of doubt in the back of his mind.  He hated himself for it.

                “You gotta wake up, okay?” Wolf sighed.  “Please wake up, Hoxton.”

                His breath came in a shudder.

                “We need you back.  It’s just not the same without you.  They won’t sing with me when I’m drunk.”

                Hoxton said nothing.

                “You would be proud of me; I look behind me now, all the time.  Maybe too much.  I ran into a door once.  I got a big bruise on my arm.  It reminded me of you.  Do you remember punching me all the time?  I miss when we’d fight.”  Wolf was not sure why he was saying the things he was saying, but he was unable to stop.  “Chains won’t fight me.  Dallas starts wheezing after two punches, and the kid scares me.  He’s too serious.   He’s fun when we’re at home, but when we have a job to do he turns into a completely different person.”  Wolf laughed.  “Maybe he is a lot like me.”         

                Wolf felt the anxiety rising higher in his chest.  It was nighttime again, a long day behind him, a long night ahead.

                “When you wake up, I have a present for you.  You’ll like it.  I packed up your stuff too.  I brought your cow.  I figured it might be important.”  His sentences were growing shorter, his chest tightening.  “I have your jacket, too, if you want it back.  I’ve been wearing it a lot, though; it got a hole in it.  I’m sorry.  It…reminds me of you…”  His voice broke.  Head in his hands, Wolf finally let himself go, releasing his stress and worry into the universe to be lifted away.

                After several minutes, Wolf picked his head up and glared at Hoxton’s sleeping figure.  “Fuck you Hoxton, fuck you right to hell.”  Angry words in his mother tongue, tears replaced with rage.  “How could you do this to me again?  I spent the past two years having nightmares about you, now you’re going and fucking dying on me when I finally get you back.  You’re going to make me blow your head open so you will stop breathing and you don’t have to lay there for the rest of your life, aren’t you?  You shit-eating bastard.  You would do that to me.”  Wolf’s hands gripped the railing of Hoxton’s bed, knuckles white.  “You always wanted to make me mad.  You spent your life trying to piss me off and it never worked.  Well congratulations, you fucking succeeded tonight.” 

He started laughing.  “You’d be so proud of yourself if only you were awake to see what was happening around you.  This is your crowning moment and you aren’t even here to enjoy it.”

                Wolf sunk back into the chair, leaning over the railing.  “I miss you so much.”  His fingertips brushed the back of Hoxton’s hand, and he felt the tears rise up again.  “So much.”

 

 

 

                Wolf watched the sun rise outside, finishing off the pack of cigarettes.  Something, anything to calm him down.   The van pulled up in the parking lot in front of him, and Dallas hopped out, a brown paper bag in one hand.  Wolf’s heart jumped to his throat.

                Dallas said nothing, just looked Wolf in the eyes for a long moment, then turned around and walked back to the van.

                Wolf turned and walked back inside through the side door he had propped open.  The hospital was in a lull, and he was confident he would not meet anyone on his way back to the glassed-in room.  As for cameras, Wolf had an ECM jammer in his pocket.  Anyone within a 50 foot radius would find their photos mysteriously erased, and the camera operator would find himself unable to see, and the recording destroyed.

                Hands shook as Wolf screwed the suppressor onto the muzzle of the pistol.  It was day three.  They’d made the decision.  Three days, and they weren’t going to let him sleep any longer.  No sense in drawing it out.  The click of the hammer locking into place was louder than gunfire in Wolf’s ears.

                 Wolf sat down in the chair one last time, looking down at his friend’s face.  “I’m sorry, this is all my fault.  I fucked it all up, the C4, I fucked it up because I was too nervous about getting you out, my hands didn’t work, I fucked it up.  I did this to you and now I have to make it stop, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.  So fucking sorry.  We were supposed to get drunk that night and sing like we used to, we were supposed to pass out on the couch like we used to.  I was going to show you around, and show you my stuff, your stuff, I was going to take you to the Thai place down the road, I was going to walk you, because I know you hate cars.

                I missed you, miss you, so much Jim.  I guess you’ll never know how much.  More than you realize.  You’ll never know how much you meant to me, moreso than just my partner and my friend.  I…” the words stuck in his throat.  “I loved you.”

                Wolf reached into his lap and lifted the pistol.  “I never got to tell you my name,” he said softly.  It felt cliché, but he didn’t care.  He raised the gun, pointing at Hoxton’s face, hands visibly shaking.  “I never got to tell you a lot of things.”

                Wolf squeezed the trigger.

               

 

 

 

                His finger was stopped abruptly, physically blocked from allowing the trigger to fire the mechanism to send the bullet sailing free.  Wolf’s arms almost gave out.  A glance at the pistol told him that he’d forgotten the safety on.

                He dropped the gun into his lap, nerve shot.  Tears blurred his vision, and he relented himself to his emotions, at least for a moment.  He pulled the railing of Hoxton’s bed down, laying his head next to his legs.

                “I can’t even shoot a sleeping person right,” he said, laughing wryly at his failure.  “You would get a kick out of this.”

                He lay there, regaining his nerve.  He needed to smoke, needed to drink, needed something to take the edge off.  He was going straight home and drinking that entire bottle of scotch in the pantry when he was done, and he didn’t care what or who he broke.  He put one hand on Hoxton’s, feeling his warmth one last time, the other hand snapping off the safety of the pistol.  Wolf took a deep breath, ready to raise his arm again.

                “Wolf?”

                Wolf’s blood froze in his veins.  The voice was hoarse, underused, and barely a whisper, but it was unmistakable.  There were only so many people in America with an accent like that.

                His head snapped up, and his eyes locked with Hoxton’s. 

                “Wolf, I had the weirdest dream.”

                Wolf thumbed the safety back on the pistol, tossing it onto the floor and under the bed as he threw himself forward, lifting Hoxton’s upper body into his arms.

 


End file.
